


Divine Desires

by loadedcasserole



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Comedy, Crack, M/M, No Smut, Rung is the horniest mech alive though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 06:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20616506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loadedcasserole/pseuds/loadedcasserole
Summary: Rung had seen depictions of the Necrobot and always found them handsome. He didn't expect to be so affected by the real thing.





	Divine Desires

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so thirsty for Censerre/Rung fic, oh heavens.

Rung hadn't, at first, been particularly excited to step foot on Necroworld. He hadn't gone with the first landing party. When Rodimus hailed the ship and offered a last chance to let anyone interested in paying their respects to join them, he hadn't jumped at the opportunity then either.

He didn't need to go in order to understand the scale of the war or the number of the dead. He had been to other memorials, and seen fields of corpses aplenty. He had been shot at as myriads of comrades were mowed down around him and trapped in wreckage as he heard the death cries of crewmates. He was tired. Old and tired. And was of the opinion that it didn’t matter who curated this previously unseen memorial or how large it was, there wasn’t anything there he was interested in. He had already made his respects, in his own way, and was ready to look to the future.

Instead he sat in Swerve’s bar, mid-grade in hand, and only half-listened to the video feed on the screen. It was there for the benefit of those that didn’t want to leave the ship and it was plenty enough for him.

_ “-and you never talked to anyone?” _

_ "No. Or at least, very rarely.” _

Rung’s drink slipped out of his hand and it spilled all over the table. His head snapped to the vid-screen of its own volition. The camera had switched to the quiet surrounding scenery. Had that been the Necrobot speaking?

The voice had struck a chord with him and it didn't make sense. He had never heard it in his life. Had he?

"Hey! You having a little problem?" Swerve walked over with a rag in hand. He made short work of clearing up Rung's mishap.

"I don't know," he whispered, not once tearing his eyes off the vid-screen.

Swerve glanced at it and shrugged. "Yeah, I guess it’s okay. It's not too late to go if you really want to."

He didn't want to.

The image shifted to, who could only be, the Necrobot, Censerre, as he walked away from the camera. His cloak covered most of his form. Something stirred. Quickened.

Somebody must have called to Censerre from off-screen because he turned slowly, as though to address them. Rung leaned forward in his seat. For one glorious moment Rung saw him fully. He had seen artist depictions and terrible videos of the Necrobot before. They were inaccurate at best and crude compared to the real thing. He had always thought those renders had looked interesting, even handsome, but would have never expected simple clarity and a decent camera-operator to have this effect on him.

Censerre was beautiful. He was majesty, the encompassment of all that was good, a spark whose hue made him groan terribly, and a face that could only be red to serve as a warning for all who neared. Rung was captivated.

As though someone on high had took pity on him, then came that wonderful, melodious voice once more, responding to more questions given. Rung couldn’t focus on what was said, it didn’t matter, only the importance that this mech kept speaking mattered. It was like a song that shouldn’t end.

The camera shifted. Back to the scenery.

He gaped from the change. He was flooded with raw emotion. Rung was angry. He was _ furious _ . He couldn't believe the incompetency, the utter disregard. Who decided to record something so important and spent most of the time looking at _ dirt _? He had never wanted to end someone’s life, but perhaps he could simply hasten-

No. No, that was too far. He just needed- he _ had _ to find this mech. He scrambled out of the bar with nary a shanix given. Swerve called him out on the wrongdoing. He didn’t care.

He ran down the halls, nearly running into walls as he slipped and skidded through corners. He cursed his lack of decent transport. He damned all those that loitered in the hall, gossiping like they had all the time in the world. Couldn’t they see that there was no time?!

An elevator opened up at the end of the hall. Before the bots on board could even contemplate stepping off, Rung crashed into them. They weren’t appreciative of it. They also didn’t appreciate him slapping at the panel until damn near every button lit up. That action wouldn't help him one bit, but he just couldn’t think straight. He had never been this horny in his life. Not even when he and Froid met up for a one-off and tried using compliments in place of dirty-talk.

People halted the doors from closing and exited the lift in a hurry, but one bot stayed aboard to take a look at Rung's handiwork. "You planning on staying here for a few years? Where you heading to?" Nightbeat asked. He undid half of the mess and the lift finally moved.

"Planet," was all he could manage.

"Now? Why the sudden interest?" 

Rung leaned against the wall. Logic and real thought slowly laced its way through him, likely aided by the energy expended by his sprint, and he started having thoughts that had no relation to the heat behind his panels. This wasn't exactly normal, was it? "I’m . . . not sure."

Nightbeat hummed in thought, but said no more. Despite having just returned from his own outing, Nightbeat chose to follow Rung and accompany him on the sparse shuttle down. Most of everyone’s curiosity had been sated and they had no company save for two others that disappeared into the pilot's cabin.

He needed to think. He recognized that the way he was feeling was strange, but he benched the thought. He had priorities, a specific order of importance, and that issue was at least number five.

Rung knew what he had to do, but he didn't know if he could attain it. How should he start? Tackle Censerre? No. No, that would be silly. He would just walk up and ask for a fuck. He scratched below his chin. Was that too forward? It wasn’t his normal methods and under any other circumstance, he wouldn’t expect it to work, but he found the idea very appropriate and his system sympathized with the thought with a fresh release of fluid. He was probably leaking by this point.

Nightbeat elbowed him from the side suddenly, dispelling his thoughts. “Hey, uh. I think you have a leak there,” he whispered.

He looked down. He was definitely leaking.

He didn’t give a damn.

At his failure to respond, Nightbeat opened his mouth and closed it a few times. “Do you- would you like some help with that?” He gave a rakish grin.

Rung thought about it. It was tempting. How long would it take to-

They landed with a rough jostle. No time. 

“No thanks,” he croaked and strode past the mech.

His sense of urgency, which had begun to wane during his trip, rose again once he hit dirt. Rung distantly took note of the flowers that spread throughout the terrain and a thought bubbled up.

Sex pollen!

Not literally. He didn't think that was the true culprit for his odd feelings. The flowers shouldn't be capable of that, but the idea led him places. Maybe there was something else about the planet that was making him off- no, wait! Swerve's! Somebody had slipped something into his drink! That’s why he had fallen for the first bot he seen! Except . . . that first bot had actually been Swerve. He wasn’t vying to climb Swerve. An incubation period then. Or it was set off by someone’s voice. He was on the right track. He should warn somebody about it.

. . . But who would do that in the first place?

He didn't get long to explore the thought because his legs had led him to a promising congregation of bots, and there- there he was, putting his vid-screen version to shame. Rung was shocked, but not just because of his staggering form. He was mirror. Rung saw himself. The mech didn't look a bit like him, but Rung was sure that if he only raised his palm, the mech would do the same.

He raised and waved his hand, both as a test and as a means of attention. It worked, partly. Censerre looked his way, but that was all. Rung tilted at the sudden onslaught of vertigo. Disassociation, he thought. Censerre had not done as he expected. Censerre was not him. It was a ridiculous concept in the first place.

Conversation died as the bots surrounding realized that Censerre wasn’t paying any attention. He only had eyes on Rung. A corner of Rung’s brain was pleased. It was right. Normal. His system calmed minutely, at the certainty that satisfaction was at hand.

Mechs parted to make way for him. He stuck out a shaking hand, with his other on his hip like he had just climbed a mountain and was feeling quite confident and good about it. “Hello, I’m Rung. Perhaps you’d like to fuck?” 

Wait. Now that it was out, it sounded a bit brusque, didn't it? Oh well. Too late now. 

Everyone else stared, with mouths hung open, save for Rodimus. He stood on the side-lines and was letting out peals of laughter.

Censerre stared at him. It seemed to go on for an eternity until, at last, he took Rung’s servo and put it in a firm, friendly vice. “Um . . . hello. I’m- no, I’m quite well, thank you.” He looked apologetic. “You are a _ very _ good looking mech though.”

No, that was unacceptable. Rung whipped off his glasses to polish them and come up with a better way to present his case. He had done this all wrong, he should have tackled the mech from the beginning.

Censerre suddenly gasped. Rung looked up in interest and moved to replace his glasses. Censerre grabbed his hand to stop him. “You’re the most beautiful mech in existence,” he breathed.

What- that was a turnaround. Rung looked at his glasses. Where they the culprit? They had to be. He couldn’t believe it! He had had them for as long as he could remember. They were a constant reminder of his unknowable past. He had gone to great lengths to upkeep them and spent many a night repairing them from random mishaps. They had to be his most treasured possession.

He threw them to the ground. He hated them! Rung moved to kick them.

Ultra Magnus snatched them up before he got the chance, catching a flying pede in the process. “This isn’t normal behaviour.”

Rodimus crossed his arms. “You don’t know that. They could be sparkmates or something. It happens.” He tilted his head, looking every bit like he was in deep thought, but all he was doing was trying to get a better angle for viewing.

Rung and Censerre had ignored the world around them and were kissing passionately, like they had been doing it their whole lives. Like there was nothing in the cosmos more important. They were together and they were one and it was marvelous. Rung pulled away, though it killed him inside to do it. His panel popped open. “I want you to raw me like a turbo-fox.”

Rodimus suddenly grabbed Rung from behind and pulled at him. Rung shouted at the distance. The two tried to hold on tighter. “Okay, I think you’re right Mags. If Rung was anything like this before, I would have _ known _ about it.”

Censerre voluntarily released before Ultra Magnus had to step in. Rung reached out in vain. “No no no-what are you doing?!”

“I’m sorry . . . I can’t give you what you want.” Censerre looked down with regret.

“What do you mean?” Rung demanded.

“My spark runs cold. Very cold. I can’t . . . do the things you’d like.”

Rung stopped his struggles. His brow came down in a hard line. What kind of hot slag was this? What terrible world was he standing on? It had to be cursed. “You mean you can’t . . .” he raised his servo vaguely. Censerre shook his head. “Not at all? No charge whatsoever?” Another shake. “Are you _ sure _?” Nodding.

“It's always the same. I’m sorry.”

He went limp in Rodimus’s arms. Rodimus hissed in sympathy. “Ooh, that sucks. I guess you can come to the medibay now, huh?” He was dragged across the ground like an anchor. He thought he might cry. At one point, Ultra Magnus took pity on him and carried him back to the shuttle, subtly closing Rung's panel in the process. He was distantly grateful.

The travel wasn’t completely terrible. He saw that Censerre was following them, at a distance, looking all the world like the most dejected and burdened mech he had ever laid his optics on. The two officers agreed that it was probably for the best, and they would get the both of them checked out in the medibay.

When Ultra Magnus sat him down on the shuttle bench, Rung spied Nightbeat nearby. He had never left the shuttle. Rung scooted next to him, under Ultra Magnus’s watchful eye. “Hey, do you think we could . . . help each other?” Nightbeat was smart. The two of them could find a way to distract the bots and squirrel away somewhere.

Nightbeat stuck out his chin. “No thanks.” He turned away.

Damn it all.

Censerre came aboard and walked to him. He was intercepted by the co-captain. Rodimus poked the mech in the chest. “No funny stuff. You two aren’t right enough in the head for it.”

The mech stood tall, utilizing every meter available to him. It was a nice, grand posture. “I just want to be by his side.” Censerre said.

“No.”

Rung stood up. “Rodimus, I will fight you.” If that was all he could get, then he was taking it.

Rodimus waved him down. “Fine! Fine. Whatever. Just sit down and behave, and maybe- maybe I’ll even let you two get examined together.”

. . . Rung would like that very much. He sat down with a huge swath of steam escaping him. It filled the cabin in short order. Ultra Magnus laid his head in his palm in second-hand embarrassment.

Censerre sat next to him and he hesitantly laced fingers, careful not to make any sudden moves with the audience at hand. It didn’t help at all. The barely-there distance was horrible. He tightened his grip and Censerre responded in kind. At least the mech was here, with him. Once Rung got past the primitive part of his head that demanded he assault the mech, he recognized that just this, merely this, was wonderful. He had always longed for something more in his life and here it was. He didn’t know much about this mech, and Censerre didn’t know anything about him, but he was eager to explore and find out more.

They were probably right, there was something strange going on here, but he would deal with it then. If there was something, it didn’t mean the end of all things. He and Censerre might even be able to salvage something from the outcome.

He grinned. Censerre smiled in response and suddenly dipped his head to him. Rung turned with expectation.

“Ah ah!” Rodimus warned.

“I just wanted to say . . .” Censerre looked to the surrounding bots slyly and said in the lowest pitch he could attain, directly into Rung’s audial. “There are many things I cannot manage, but I think we can do more with these hands later. If you’re amenable to it.”

Rung climbed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Rung never went with the group to explore Necroworld when Censerre was alive, and this is my fulfillment of that. I'm a sucker for the Death and the Lady trope and I think this somewhat falls in line with it. I think these guys would be so cute together holy shit. Give me time and I'll deliver something a little less crackish. I got these ideas man. I feel like my brain is on fire.
> 
> Also, I missed the opportunity to talk about Rung after taking a hiatus from the comics, so I'm sorry to subject you to my rambling, but I'm finding the fact that this boy has been shadowplayed technically twice to be fascinating. As Roberts states here " . . . An unexplored/undeveloped subplot would have looked at how ‘our’ Rung, pre-war, had accidentally created lots of crystals and been shadowplayed into forgetting it. His special ability was the reason - see MTMTE 48 - why the Senate prevented him leaving on Ark 1."


End file.
